Fight Back
by ubiquitousantiquitous
Summary: After a drunken night out with a certain blonde jester and their resident cat burglar, Ivy tries once and for all to knock some sense (metaphorically speaking, of course) into Harley's head. A decision that may cost her life. Mild Batcat, and references to certain aspects of bedroom behavior. Now multi-chapter.
1. Chapter 1

Anonymous: Hi I really love your blog, you're drawings are amazing. If you don't mind could you write a fic with pam telling Harley to leave the Joker and Harley gets annoyed at her but eventually sees where Pam is coming from?

**I'm sorry for letting my inbox get so backed up, but I'm working on answering things as efficiently as possible.**

**Also, this is concept I've toyed with for awhile.**

Contains mentions of abuse and obscene amounts of fluff.

When it came down to it, Harley was just naturally good at making friends. It was her smile, Pam decided. Something about the bouncing blonde's smile was tantamount to a sunny day in their smoggy city. Pam despised Gotham; its tainted air and ratio of steel to green. It was her personal project to slowly reverse the numbers, or so she told herself, and that was why she stayed. It had nothing to do with her two barhopping friends.

"Ya haven't ordered anything, Red." Harley was just at the edge of tipsy; the evidence, Pam found, was in the girl's cheeks. The redness of her complexion acted like a terror meter in the younger girl. "Want me to getcha soda?"

Pam spared Harley a quick, halfhearted smile. "No, Harl."

Harley pouted.

"Yooooooooooo."

Selina, on the other hand, was positively smashed. The cat burglar was currently trying, to no avail, to seat herself on the stool beside Pam's. Her short black hair was messier than usual, and her green eyes were starting to grow bloodshot. When Harley finally managed to boost the brunette onto the stool, she nearly fell into Ivy's lap. She could smell the alcohol before she saw the large spill on the other woman's dark jeans and tank top.

"Guys," when drunk, Selina had the uncanny ability of sounding as if she were from an entirely different region, like the most Italian-influenced areas of New York. "I think I found the guy I'm meant to be with—hic—forever."

Harley and Ivy met gazes for just a moment; Harley elected to speak first. "Okay, Selina. Who would that be?"

With a shaky hand, Selina pointed across the bar. At a mirror. Where her own reflection was cast back. "That is one fine sonuva bitch if I ever saw one."

Harley grimaced. "Selina, Cat, honey baby, I think you've had enough."

"No way, I've still got six _more drinks _on back order from the beer waiter."

"Bartender."

"Whatever."

Harley slipped behind Selina, patting her leg consolingly, and met Pam's eyes in a meaningful way. They'd done this before. In a moment, Selina's cell phone was in Pam's hand and she ducked into the restroom with it. She sent a text to Bruce Wayne on the state of Selina Kyle's condition, and within twenty minutes the on-again, off-again knight-in-shining-armor arrived in his butler-chauffeured car.

Pam didn't care for Bruce Wayne the way Harley did, and _certainly _not the way Selina did. He was too gentile, and whenever they interacted he apparently forgot about that Christmas two years ago where she and Harley nearly killed him (a story that the two still laughed about every once in a while). Either Bruce Wayne was entirely too forgiving, or he didn't have too many brain cells in his head.

"Thanks, ladies." Wayne took Selina's practically comatose form from Harley. "Still can't hold her liquor, after all these years. I'm glad you girls think enough of me to consult as a designated driver."

And there it was, the bland "I'm rich, white, and attractive" smile of his. Harley gushed at the sight, but a quick pinch to the rear from Pam set her straight. Harley liked Bruce because he'd once testified for her release from Arkham; he'd even been there for her on that zany day when Harley girl was declared sane and unleashed onto the general public. Just through the paper headlines alone, the story was one for the history books.

"Mr. Wayne," Harley spoke up. "Y'ain't gonna take advantage of her, right?"

His pointed brows flew upward. "I'd never dream of it."

"Good," it was Selina who spoke up in a comically slurred drawl. "'Cause I'm not a _floozy_, Bruce. Treat a girl to dinner. Then fill her up."

"Ya mean _feel_, Selina."

Selina smirked dirtily. "Nah, I didn't."

Pam took that as her cue to take Harley by the elbow and leave the bar altogether. They made it ten feet before Bruce called after them.

"You ladies wouldn't be in the mind for anything illegal tonight, are you?"

Ivy, filled to the brim with annoyance, spun in his direction. A remark of "your girlfriend wouldn't like your suggestive _tone_, Mr. Wayne" was ready on her lips, but she stopped herself. He was still cradling Selina's now sleeping form, looking down at her like she was worth more than the car he stood beside. On-again, off-again, yes, but still valid all the same. She sighed.

"No, Mr. Wayne. No need to call in the feds. Harley and I are going to set in for a long night sobering up, thank you very much. Goodnight."

"Yeah," Harley waved back at them with full arcs of her arm. "G'night, Mr. Wayne! And Selina! Be safe! Don't do anything Red and I wouldn't do! Well," she chuckled, lowering her voice. "Not that it leaves them much to go on, eh?"

It was Harley's turn to share the same smirk Selina had; the two had obviously been rubbing off on each other. They were halfway back to the formerly abandoned building all three shared when Ivy was regretting her decision to leave her car home. It was a lovely spring night; the air was thick with humidity, but chilled from the last vestiges of a vanishing winter. The moistened cold air dragged across her skin in the way even velvet could leave burns over time.

"Red, I'm cold."

Before Pam could even offer, Harley ducked under her arm and tucked herself in beneath Ivy's coat. She nuzzled in to her side, her head rubbing against Ivy's shoulder.

"All better?" Pam asked, amused as always at Harley's ability to stay on her feet even though she was entirely intoxicated.

"You have the best hugs, Red." Harley sighed, slipping her hand into the opposite pocket of Pam's jeans.

Pam stiffened when she felt Harley's thumb hook into a belt loop; usually, it was all right, but once Harley had been just wasted enough on one of these walks home that she ended up falling down, taking Pam's pants with her. It had been obscenely late then, too, but Ivy never quite forgot the potential threat of becoming an inadvertent flasher. She placed her hand around Harley's, for insurance sake.

"Oh?" Pam responded, seconds too late. It was all right; Harley's thought processes were often slowed when drunk. Though, the fact that her response was slow might also mean that the few drinks she'd had while Selina and Harl were fighting over the jukebox and singing bad karaoke (without microphones; it wasn't that sort of bar) were finally taking effect. "Why are my hugs the best?"

"'Cause you smell nice," Harley sighed contentedly, taking the corner of Pam's jacket and inhaling deeply. "All rosy and sappy. When I close my eyes, I can almost think I'm in the woods or somethin'. But better, 'cause there ain't nothing in the woods as soft as you. Well, except for bears."

Pam frowned. "I am _much _softer than a bear."

"Well, how should _I _know, Red? I've never touched a bear before! You never let me try when we go to the petting zoo."

"Just because you can vault over the fences into the exhibits doesn't make it a _petting_ zoo, darling."

"Sure as hell does, if you try hard enough."

"You're not touching a bear."

"But what if it's like the boys? Bud and Lou are supposed to be vicious carnivores, but they've never so much as nipped at me."

"First of all, hyenas are scavengers. Second, Bud ripped the back out of your costume last week." She recalled the shared laughter from herself and Selina at the sight of Harley's exposed rear like the Coppertone sunblock girl.

"Ha, ha. Funny, funny, Red. Joke's on _you_; that was Lou."

"Good heavens, forgive me for mixing up your identical hyenas in such a brazen way."

"Ain't identical. Bud's got a spot under his eye, like that mole under yours."

"It's a freckle, Harl."

"Uh-huh, sure. And the Pacific Ocean is all Sprite."

"My, my," Pam sighed, ecstatic to see their home begin looming into view. "I think it's time for little Harleen to hit the hay."

"Ew," Harley shivered. "Don't call me that. If there's one thing I'm thankful to Puddin' for, it's giving me a different name."

Pam's hand tightened over Harley's. "I think Harleen isn't so bad, sweetheart."

"Yeah, well, you wouldn't understand. Your name is so _pretty_. I got my name from some great-grandma on my dad's side."

"But that's a lovely thing, Harl."

"Because my dad lost a bet."

"Oh."

"And my middle name is Frances."

"Um," Pam pursed her lips. "It's, uh, not so bad."

"Harleen Frances Quinzel." Harley intoned. "Say it altogether. No, wait, don't. You might end up summoning my great-nana back from the grave."

"Fine," Pam huffed. Harley was practically leaning against her now, her legs moving slower and slower. She was wearing down. Pam helped her up the porch steps and over the threshold of their warmly lit foyer. "I won't call you Harleen, but I don't like the sentiment of your nickname. It's part of the reason why I call you daffodil all the time."

"Really?" Harley detached from her, leaving Pam's side cold. She spun; posing in what Pam was certain Harley thought was a seductive way. Honestly, she looked like a drunken duck. "And here I thought it was 'cause you _liked _me."

Pam, smiling fondly, pushed a lock of hair behind Harley's ear. Harley took the hand and pressed it to her cheek. "Well, there's that, too."

"And I know you don't care for Mr. J," Harley bounded away, shedding her jacket and shoes in a short trail as she went deeper into the building. Pam scooped them up and set them in a neat pile in the hall closet, discarding her own jacket and shoes, too. She would have to pick them up in the morning; right now, she was tired. "But you and him are just gonna have to see eye-to_-eye _one of these days."

Pam made a face. "I don't see why I should."

Harley jolted up from where she'd sprawled on the couch. Pam watched with an arched brow as the clown struggled to pull off her pantyhose beneath her checked skirt. Once her legs were bare, she snatched up a blanket and draped it over herself, panting from the exertion. A small, miraculous feat from someone so plastered.

"You _should_," Harley spoke into a throw pillow, "because it's dumb. I know you guys are runnin' conflicting business—"

"It's not conflicting business, hon."

"—but he's my _boyfriend_—"

Pam cut Harley off with a derisive snort.

Harley sat up again. "Wha?"

"Oh, sorry," Pam spoke from behind her knuckle. "I thought you said _boyfriend_."

Harley turned up her nose. "I did."

"Funny," Pam's smile was gone. "Last I checked, a _boyfriend _is pretty much the opposite of your Mr. J, Harl."

"Oh, how would _you _know?" Harley grasped her pillow huffily. "Ya don't even _like _guys, Red. Or people, honestly. You just use 'em like Kleenex and let them blow in the wind."

"I don't use you that way."

"Ya have no idea how much my Puddin' _cherishes _me."

"Cherish? _Him?_"

"Whatcha doin', Red? Red?"

Pam stomped over to Harley, plopped beside her and forced her to turn around. None too gently, Pam forced the back of Harley's shirt up and pressed her hand harshly to the bruised and scarred flesh.

"Red, you're hurting me!" Harley squealed breathily, trying to slip away from Pam's firmly pressed palm. "Stop it!"

"I'm not doing anything but touching the _marks _that _filthy creature _left on you, Harley!" It was rare for Ivy to lose her temper like this, when she wasn't talking about plants, or the state of the planet, or reprimanding Harley for breaking something again. This was different anger, because it was Harley who was breaking. "Each time you come back, it's a little worse, Harl. Are you trying to tell me that you _like _lying down and letting him dig his nails so deep in your back that you bleed all over your favorite shirts."

Harley was still wincing from the contact. "N-no, it's not…"

Pam moved her hand a bit to the side, the pressure still constant. "You like that he bites you so hard he bruises down to the _muscle?_"

"H-he—Red…"

At last, she moved her hand down, to the largest bruise on Harley's body as of the moment. "Or that he _punches _you so hard your kidneys don't work like they should? You've been using the bathroom more than usual, Harl."

"It was his foot, Red! Stop it!"

Pam released her hold only to seize Harley's shoulders and turn her back around. There were tears in Harley's eyes, mingling embarrassment and hatred. It would probably be too much, a step too far, but she had to. Losing Harley was one thing, losing Harley to death was another.

Pam yanked up the front of Harley's shirt, and gently placed her fingertips to the bruising on her abdomen. She had lied before; _these _were the worst of the bruises. Harley began to cry harder, unable to look at Pam.

"Or that he might have single-handedly made it impossible for you to have children?" Pam asked quietly, her other hand absently touching her own stomach. Exposing Harley's stomach had been a hunch she'd hoped wasn't true, but there it was. It was a shared burden of theirs. "Every time I think of his disgusting hands on your body, _changing _it into something awful from something so good, trying to turn _you _into a monster…Harley, I get physically sick. You think I don't understand it, Harl, but I do. My tormentor is my own body; yours is the man you think loves you."

Pam had expected more tears, maybe even a few slaps to the face. But not this, not _silence_. Harley was looking at her with vacant eyes; devoid of feeling.

"Puddin' is just rough sometimes, Ivy." Her voice was almost robotic. "He loves me more than his words can make real. I know he ain't…right. He's got problems. His brain makes things go all fuzzy and he can't make a good from a bad, or a bad from a good."

"Darling," Pam reached forward and took Harley's hand in hers. "Sometimes, loving someone doesn't mean you have to be together. _Loving _someone can also mean letting them go, for their own good. No one has the right to put their hands on you in that way. A touch should be a touch, not a fist. Look at me, Harl. _Look at me_."

Harley's eyes were glassy with unshed tears.

"Go. Away."

Pam flinched backward, the pain worse than a slap. Pam couldn't take it anymore; she'd allowed herself to become emotional, and for what? Flat out rejection? Worse than that, the expression on Harley's face was that of absolute denial, as if she was mentally casting out each of Pam's words syllable by syllable.

"Fine," Pam flung herself upward, allowing what she was feeling to morph into something she could handle. "Go back to him and continue living as you always have, tired and afraid! One of these days, Harley, he's going to go too far and he's going to take your _life! _I'm not going to be around to see it; I'm removing myself before that can happen. Tell Selina she has my thanks for letting me into her home; it was a good run. Don't worry; you won't ever see me again."

Even with all that anger, Pam couldn't just end it like this. She could convince herself that Harley was Satan itself, and she would still mourn like a wounded wolf at the loss of her.

"Just," Pam hesitated, fumbling for words. "Just _promise me_, Harl. Promise me, when he does come at you again, for once in your life _fight back_. If you ever cared about me at all, _promise me_."

It was in absolute silence that Pam made it to the front door. Hand on the doorknob, the sound of claws dully scuttling against the wooden floors came from behind her. She felt the hyenas' cold noses before she saw them. Feeling tears begin to form, Pam ducked down and drew them in close. She hadn't particularly loved the hyenas, but they'd been good to her before.

"I'm leaving, boys," Pam told them in the sweetest voice she could muster. On occasion, the hyenas had taken an order or two from her, but how loyal they were to her was yet to be proven. "Your mom doesn't want me around anymore. Keep her warm. Keep her safe. Don't…don't let her cry alone, all right?"

The hyenas whimpered in response.

"Good boys," she ruffled their heads, and disappeared into the night.

Selina arrived home just before dawn. Harley was startled awake by the thud of the closing front door.

"Red?" Immediately, she regretted saying the name. She didn't have the right to be the first thing she thought about when she woke after what she did. "How's it going, Cat?"

Selina, less drunk than she'd been hours ago, flopped onto Harley's legs on the sofa, a satisfied look on her face. "Awesome, awesome. Thanks for that little trick you and Ivy pulled with my phone; Bruce explained it. You guys got me a _very _good night in bed. And I wasn't alone."

Harley smirked. It was rare that Selina and Bruce got together, but for some reason the cat burglar didn't mind how little time they shared together. "You've got a bruise on your wrist! I told him not to take advantage of you!"

Selina shook her head, a huge smile on her face. "While I appreciate the concern, Harls, no one was taken advantage of. And he apologized. He accidentally locked the cuffs too tight."

Harley's cheeks went red. "Oh. Wait, what'd you say?"

Selina blinked. Her green eyes were a little less bloodshot. Harley also noticed that she wasn't wearing her tank top anymore; Bruce must have given her some clean clothes. They smelled like expensive cologne, and Selina had the smile of a woman who was wearing the clothes that smelled of a man's expensive cologne.

"I said thank you for the concern, but—"

Harley held up a hand. "Y'said he apologized? For playin' rough? I thought you and Bruce and you and B-Man liked all that dirty stuff? You make jokes about your whip all the time."

It was Selina's turn to blush. "Well, yeah…sleeping together like that should always be gentle in some way, either during or at the end. Bruce is more of a _during _guy. I swear, every five seconds he was saying sorry or asking if I was okay."

"But he never, y'know, hurts you?"

Selina's brows bunched together. "Harley, this is getting awfully personal. Why so many questions on the way I sleep around?"

"Let's say, hypothetically, Bruce or B-Man…kicked ya back while you were doin' it."

"I'd kick him right the fuck back, no one has the right to lay a hand on me like that. I'm not an expert on BDSM, contrary to what Vicki Vale and her snickering posse have to say about it, but I know that you shouldn't hurt for weeks after, Harl. This is about _him_, isn't it?"

"I've never heard you use a tone about him like that before."

"Well, maybe I'm still kinda drunk. I never really have to try and talk to you about it, because Ives covers all the bases pretty well. I don't like Joker. He's a sick sonuva bitch. It was before your time, but he did something extremely fucked up to Batman that ended up in losing someone he loved. Multiple times, actually, now that I think about it. I have no respect for him whatsoever."

"Most people don't."

"I've also been in a couple abusive relationships, Harley. Real bad ones, the kind I never thought I'd get out of, before I became Catwoman. Bruce and Batman may play it rough, but they never bite to break the skin, if you get what I mean. And after…Harl, if Joker loved you, trust me, there'd be some kind of sweetness after. Does he even _look _at you when you're through?"

Harley's silence was damning. Against all the things swirling in her mind, she blurted the thought that hurt most. "I kicked Red out!"

Selina's head snapped back in shock. "What the—why?"

"She was tryin' to set me straight on Joker, but I wouldn't listen! So I told her to leave, and she did! I messed up; she probably won't ever talk to me again!"

Selina patted Harley's shoulder. "Calm down. Let's give her a call. If she doesn't pick up, then we'll sleep in until noon and go looking for her."

Harley sniffled. "Yeah?"

Selina nudged her nose with a knuckle. "Of course, kid. Besides, when is Pam ever _not _pissed? Gimme your phone."

Selina dialed, all the while Harley wrung her hands together anxiously. She'd really messed it up this time.

"Please leave your message for 809-7…"

"Try it again," Harley insisted, taking the phone from Selina to do it herself. "C'mon, Red…"

It stopped ringing.

"Hello, Red?"

A loud, piercing scream came from the other line.

"Red!"

"Harley girl!"

Her stomach flopped. "P-Puddin'! How are ya?"

Selina's mouth dropped open wide when Harley mouthed for her to get changed. They'd need costumes and gadgets.

"Harley, so happy you rang! I was just about to whittle your little green friend down to make skewers! Summertime is a-coming, and with it comes barbeques. Maybe I should start smoking the meat _right away_."

"Awe, Puddin'," Harley whined, already upstairs and trying to shimmy into her suit with one hand preoccupied. She put the phone on speaker and zipped up. "Wait just a little bit? I wanna be there when—when ya cook the pig!"

"Harl, we're doing wood jokes; you jumped the gun."

Another agonized scream, definitely from Pam, came from the speaker. Harley was holding back her tears as best she could. She'd done this.

"Better hurry, Harl. The boys are getting restless," his voice darkened. "We've been holed up at the hideout at the pier awhile; no women to interact with for days. Ah, but since Pammy likes to play with the big boys so much, seems like she's always wanted to be one. Perhaps we should remind her of the _joys _of being a woman, hm?"

"One step closer and I'll annihilate the whole building!" Pam shrieked.

"No one's gonna touch her yet, Harl, but better hurry all the same. Oh, and be a dear and fetch daddy's favorite cigars on your way home. You're the best doll, mwah."

Harley found Selina already in Pam's car. Together, they sped off to the pier, Harley's whole body numb with cold.

The sun had still yet to rise, but the pier was beginning to fill with the dull glow of early morning. The briny smell of the sea and fish did nothing good for the sick feeling in Harley's stomach.

"If they touch her, I'm going to scratch out his eyes and feed them to him," Selina muttered, extending the claws in her gloves.

"Wait, Cat," Harley held up a hand. "You should stay back. If they think we're here for a rescue, things might go south real quick. I need you to stay behind just in case. If I'm not out in fifteen, call for Bat Backup."

"I'm _not letting you _go in alone."

"It's the only way, please!"

Selina was unhappy to relent. Harley wrapped her in a tight hug. "I've always looked up to you, Selina. I hope things work out for you and Wayne or Batman one of these days. And, um, thank you for being my friend."

Selina clapped her back. "Why are you talking like I'm never going to see you again?"

Harley smiled sadly. She didn't have the heart to tell Catwoman that with what she had planned, there was no way Joker would ever let her see the light of day again.

The hideout was absurdly easy to get into. The part that made it a good location was that the area around the pier was abandoned for miles and had been for a century. If Gotham bothered to repurpose its space, it would see fewer villains.

Inside, Joker sat on a stack of crates like it was a throne. No henchmen were visible, but Harley knew they were inside the old fishery. Most importantly, on Joker's lap, with her arms and legs tied and an apple wedged in her mouth, was Pam.

She began grunting as soon as she saw Harley. Pam was still dressed in the outfit she wore last night, but it was torn in places where she'd evidently been beaten. A large, bleeding gash was exposed on the hip where their hands had shared space in her pocket just hours ago.

_Oh, Red. What have I done?_

"I went looking for you, Harley," Joker pouted, looking awfully bored, as if he didn't have a bound and gagged Poison Ivy on his knee like a doll. "I thought you'd be at this vine bitch's greenhouse, but surprise-surprise when she told me to get the fuck out. She said that I'd _won_. Well, I told her no one's won anything, if she was still alive. You can't have the affections of two people, Harl. It's not very nice."

Harley, hands clenched tight. She ceased looking at Pam. "Let her go, Puddin'. She don't mean nothin' to me, y'know it."

Pam made a new pained sound, this time it wasn't from pain. Again, Harley rejected her outright, and with such scorn. She was too tired and too beaten to hide her pain anymore. If the apple weren't in her mouth, she knew that every secret feeling, each unshared passion for the blonde little jester would tumble out of her mouth. They were the sentiments of a dying woman; she was bleeding a lot, she didn't have much time.

"Do the honors then, Harl." Joker produced a long dagger that he flipped in the air and caught by the sharp point. "Carve up the ham so we can have ourselves luau. Then maybe old Mr. J will take you back."

"Take me back," Harley took the knife, "Mr. J?"

"That's right," he smiled, taking Harley's chin in his fingers, affectionately smearing Pam's blood on her face. "You and me, Harley girl. Like old times. Things were so much better before old Pamela here interfered, weren't they?"

"Better," Harley smiled brightly. "That's for sure! Like when you spent all that time convincing me you loved me in Arkham, when I was still a doctor?"

Joker laughed. "A knee-slapper! To think you'd ever fall for someone as _beaten _as your old Mr. J!"

"And when you ratted me out to B-Man, when you wanted to lighten your sentence? That sure was funny, too, right, Puddin'?"

Joker's laughter tightened. "Ha…right! Sure was a laugh…"

Harley's face turned into a mask of hatred. "Or when ya threw me outta window? Or when you took that video of us having sex and shared it with all the guys in Arkham, but replaced everything I said with animal sounds? Or when you told me you wanted a hug and put me in a _chokehold _until I passed out for a day? Or when ya every now and again decided I just didn't need to eat. Or—"

"Harley, baby! Those were just lover's spats! Cute little fights!"

"When Red and I fight, she gets a little loud, but apologizes to me later, Mr. J."

Joker's face morphed into boredom. "Oh, please. You aren't gonna start spouting a story on _twu wuv_, are ya, Harl? You and I, we never played by anyone's rulebooks. It's why we worked so well."

"Wrong!" Harley now held the knife level with Joker's nose. "I _tried _to play by the rules, clown! I tried every day to make your love seem natural! I've got the scars to prove it!"

Harley swung the knife down, plunging it into Joker's shoulder. He howled in pain, releasing his hold on Pam to staunch the flow coming from the wound. Harley dragged Pam off his knee, cutting the ropes around her wrists with the bloodied knife. Pam rolled away from the crate throne just as Joker rose to full height before Harley, shaking with rage.

Pam spat out the rotten apple and fumbled with the ropes at her ankles. The intricate knot was too tight and complicated for merely untying. Her hands started to bleed at the nails as she scraped at her restraints; she had to help Harley, but her vision was fading. Blood was trickling from her in what seemed every few inches of her body. She was a goner.

But she had to fight.

Harley would never defend herself against the Joker, and she'd be _damned _if she was going to lie there and watch her be beaten to death after her stunt.

"You miserable brat!" Joker snarled, reaching for Harley's head.

But Harley ducked. He reached again, and she repeated. Pam blinked. They continued the back and forth for a moment. Joker couldn't lay a hand on her now; why was Harley always so beaten when the man couldn't catch her with his good arm?

_For once in your life, fight back_, her own words came to her in a flash, and she sat back, disbelieving what she saw.

"You've been real mean, Mr. J!" Harley ducked low and kicked Joker square in the gut. He fell to the floor, but Harley kept kicking. "You've hurt me so bad that I don't think I'll ever be able to hurt more! You've been playing games ever since I showed up at Arkham and I haven't been the same person since! I hate that you hurt me! I hate that you hurt everyone, and that I'm _part _of that everyone! But, mostly, I hate that you made me love you and that I'll never be able to stop myself!"

Joker had stopped moving. He wasn't dead, but Harley wasn't finished. She took the knife, and drove it through his dominant hand once, twice, three times. When they revived them in the hospital later, Pam doubted he would ever be able to use that hand again.

_That's my girl_, Pam thought, and blacked out.

She awoke in the hospital days later. IVs were in her arms, filled with purified water and Miracle Gro. She'd have laughed if it weren't for the fact her throat was so dry. She felt better, though. Still sore, but something clued her in to the fact that her injuries were no longer fresh and bleeding. She would probably be all right for discharge, come a few days' time.

Most importantly, at her bedside was Harley. The blonde was wearing an old T-shirt and jeans, and sobbing into the hem of the shirt. Her eyes were swollen and red, and her hair was frayed and mussed in her pigtails. There was an air about her that told Pam she hadn't slept in at least a day.

She looked awful, but in the pallid light and stifling quiet of the hospital, Pamela thought her the most beautiful thing ever put into existence.

"Why?"

Harley's head shot up, a wide smile on her face. "Red! Oh, Red, I'm so happy you're okay!"

"Sit…me up," Pam tried on her own, but it was still beyond her. A few of her ribs may have been bruised, or cracked. Harley gently eased Pam up in the bed. "What happened?"

"You got beat up real bad, now they're fixing you up. The Miracle Gro was my idea; the doctors said it's been workin'!"

"That's my girl," Pam smiled weakly. "What happened to Joker?"

Harley went red in the face. "He's still alive, if that's whatcha mean."

It was only partially what she meant.

"He's gonna lose that hand, though. Sick guy's never gonna touch me again."

Pam bit back her immediate reply, a creed of how she would never let Joker touch her. But he had gotten Pam, and damn near killed her, and threatened worse. Joker, while not a super, was capable of terrible things.

"Why did you…?"

If possible, Harley turned scarlet. She looked at Pam, confusion and dawning blooming across her face. "I remembered what you said, about fighting back. It came down to who I wanted to hurt more. I'd never wanted to hurt P—Joker before, not even when he…when he hit me. But when I saw what he did to _you_…"

"You…" Pam swallowed hard against the dry feeling in her throat. "You chose _me_…over _him?_"

Harley looked down again, at her clenched hands, and nodded. "And I think I'd do it again, too. Over and over."

"Why now? Why the sudden change?"

"Easy, Red." Harley reached over and helped her sip from a glass of water on the bedside table. The lipstick on the rim told her it was Harley's own glass; that detail felt so important, but she didn't care as she drank it all greedily down. Harley placed the cup back and traced Pam's cheek with the back of her palm. "Because you cry for me. You're doing it right now. You've never been good at tellin' what you're feeling, have ya, Red? It's good you have me around, 'cause I can read ya like a book."

Pam, suddenly aware of her tears, somehow felt braver for them. As if some wall had been removed between her and Harley. "Sometimes, I wonder, Harl…"

"Wonder what?"

"What would have happened, if you had chosen me first?" She thought back to that day, when Harley first received a tour of Arkham. "You'd walked past, stared me right in the eyes as you spoke to a colleague on why you had chosen to work there. I didn't think much of you then, honestly. Just a pretty girl ready to be fed to the house and eaten alive by its occupants. In retrospect, I wish I could have done something differently. Approached the edge of my cell. Called out to you. Been just a few cells down, past Joker. I had no idea what I was missing."

"If it makes ya feel any better," Harley moved her chair so she could rest her head on Pam's shoulder, "I wish I had chosen you. It hasn't been my choice in a long, long time. I'm starting to see that I _can _make choices. It's what people in the field call a breakthrough, y'know. The important thing is I'm choosing now, and…"

"And?" Pam's heartrate began to speed up, just a tad. The heart monitor's beeping told her what her pulse was telling her.

"And I think I'm heading down a path that leads to choosing you," Harley's eyes were full of tears, her face a mask of anguish. "Is it okay? Is it okay, that I want to stay with you? Do you want me?"

"I'll always want you, Harley."

"Because I'm still gonna want him," Harley confessed, clutching her chest as she cried. Pam was immobilized by the sight. "It's so messed up, but I'm always gonna wanna be with him, even though I know I should hate him, even though I _do _hate him!"

Ivy let Harley cry for just a moment, holding onto her hand as if it was sustaining her more than any of the IVs could ever do. This was the pivotal moment. Whatever was said in this room would define the dynamic between her and Harley for the rest of their lives.

"The important thing, daffodil, is that you have the right to choose. Whatever happens, no matter what you do…I could never hate you. Believe me, I've tried. Each time you went back to him, I felt like I had my roots yanked out from beneath me, but still I couldn't hate you. If you're worried about hurting me, then…don't. I just want you to be happy."

"When I look at him, my brain goes all fuzzy." Harley sniffled. "It's like I've forgotten how to think. Things get all jumbled up and suddenly I'm right as rain. I can do anything. I can jump from a building and not get hurt. I can point a gun at my head and pull the trigger and make it out alive."

Pam winced. "He makes you feel invincible."

"No, he makes me happy to _die_." Harley said it with a tone of dawning, as though just discovering it herself. "When I'm with you, though, Red, I don't feel so lost. I don't feel so high. I get my moments, when I want to climb heights that are too big for me, or take on guys in bars that I shouldn't even bother with. But you keep me grounded. You show me what's right, and what isn't. And you're patient with me. You're gentle, and kind."

She took Pam's face so that they were staring into each other. Ivy couldn't look Harley in the eyes, so she closed hers, instead focusing on their foreheads and noses touching, and Harley's minty breath on her face.

"You make me wanna _live_, Red. I wanna live. I wanna _live! _I wanna live and keep on living, and I wanna keep on living with you! I wanna stay with you for always, if you'll have me."

"If I'll have you?" Pam was surprised at her own incredulity in her voice; she had been entirely convinced by Harley's speech, but her doubt at the end was confusing.

"I'm always gonna be trouble, Pam. Even though you make me feel good, the old, sane Harley is gone for good. P—Joker's diabolical plan succeeded; I'm his ultimate punchline. I'm gonna do things you ain't gonna like. I'm gonna do crazy flips and break things, and tell bad jokes, and talk too much, and mess up plans—"

"You're also going to still sing in the shower every morning, make breakfast for us even though it isn't your turn, read the newspaper quietly to me in bed when I have a migraine and can't read it myself, brush out my tangles after I shower, console me when my flowers die off in the autumn months, put too much fabric softener in with the laundry because you like the smell, specifically shop for clothes that match your costume, entirely—"

"Whoa, whoa," Harley cut Pam off. "Red, are you sayin'…those are things you _like _about me?"

Pam went silent, feeling a blush creep into her cheeks. Her heartrate began going up again, according to the monitors.

"Red?"

No response.

"Pam?"

Harley made that sound she did when she grinned mischievously (a little "hmph" that also belonged in that list Pam had rattled off), and leaned in so her lips brushed Pam's ear.

"Pamela?" She whispered.

"They're things I…that I…_love _about you."

"Oh," Harley nodded. "_Oh!_ You…you mean, you…?"

"I…yeah," Pam nodded. "Yeah."

Harley beamed. It had been so long since Pam saw her smile that way, in the way that made the sun pale like the moon. "I 'yeah' you, too. Pam."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

And then they kissed.

And the heartrate monitor started to go berserk.

A doctor and what seemed a dozen nurses charged in, only to find that Harley had left her seat and was now planted on Pam's lap, the two of them very clearly separating from a heated lip-lock. Pam would never forget the smug smile on Harley's face as she watched the doctors remove the connection to the heartrate monitor, checking her vitals, and warnings of calling the GCPD.

"I guess I'm a danger to ya health, Red." Harley chuckled, seating herself gently in Pam's lap, mindful of the bruising there. "The Bat said he's gonna work with the police on the situation. We won't see a trial, not for _this, _anyway. If I kiss ya again, are y'gonna have a coronary?"

Pam rolled her eyes. "No, Harl."

She frowned, her pigtails appeared to droop. "No, I can't kiss ya?"

"No, I won't die if you kiss me again." Pam thought she'd turned the same shade as her hair. Honestly, she might die if she didn't. "You can kiss me as many times as you want."

Harley perked up. "As many times as I want, whenever I want?"

"Within reason," Pam cautioned. "So long as you want to."

Harley leaned in again, carefully turning her head, pausing just before Pam's lips. "Y'know, we never really kissed much. Me and him. I guess that shoulda been some kinda red flag, or something. I don't know if I'm any good…"

"Well, I've never kissed someone and left them conscious enough to rate me after," Pam said dryly. "I guess we'll have to find out. Together."

"Together," Harley pressed their foreheads close again. "Y'know, Red, this really is like living inside a dream. You'll really let me stay with you, for a long time?"

"As long as you want."

"Then…forever?"

"Yeah," Ivy swore. "Forever."


	2. Elle Etait Si Jolie

I've never done a sequel before, but here goes. I'm using that ambiguous timeline again, where Bruce is still alive but the Sirens are still a team. Make of it what you will. Fuck continuity. Also lalala, I know nothing about prisons or mental institutions, lalala.

x

If there were one fact Pam would insist on until the day she died, it would be that Harley hadn't started out the way she would be remembered. Before Harley Quinn, there was Harleen Quinzel: Trained, licensed psychiatrist. Even if she sometimes forgot the detail herself, she made a point to force herself to remember, because sometimes even Harley forgot.

The cold stone floor scraped at her skin, opening old wounds and scratching open new ones. When had she last heard the voices of her children? Their soft green sighs were muted by the coarse concrete that separated them. She focused on a sound she could shape in her head, a sound golden and brash, as if sunlight had a voice.

_Wake up, Red. The sun's been up for hours, didja miss it?_

She was missing something. Everything. Her brain, her body, was on full disconnect. Her hands clenched uselessly against the battered metal of her manacles, shackles that bound her to the wall. The door was so near. Each day, she would wake presumably with the sun, it was too hard to tell with no windows in the dark room, and walk to the extent of her chains. Even when she lay on the floor, arms stretched out in desperation, nails clawing at the concrete, desperate for even another inch, her reaching fell just short. The door was _right there_.

Plants, they sent out a smell when they died. Grass especially. When cut, that vibrant smell was a sign of brutalization and decay.

Ivy's cell was filled with that bright rot.

The door swung open, and light spilled in, blinding Pam just seconds after seeing the silhouette in the doorframe. Unkind arms hoisted her up, carrying her back to the cot, and a single hand pried her mouth open. The other arm ended in a stump. Through the spots in her vision, she spied the cold eyes of the one who fed her. They were unrepentant.

"Agh!" Her jailer cried out. "Naughty, naughty. Never bite the hand that feeds you, Pammy. Be like the better part of a rosebush; all petals, no thorns?"

Again, her mouth was open, and against the flush of blood in her mouth salt poured in. She wished her tongue could desensitize itself from the taste.

"Be good next time, Pammy, and you'll get a drink."

If she had anything in her to cry with, she would. Instead, her body wracked as if she were producing tears, listening as her captor poured out a bottle of water onto the floor. She missed her chance. How many days had she gone without water?

"Oh," he chuckled, stooping to light a new candle in the far corner of her cell. It was a small stump of wax that would only last a short while, before its wax joined the cooled puddle on the floor. "A moth. Looks like you finally have a friend, Pammy."

The door shutting behind him hurt like a slap to the gut. Her stomach undulated as her body continued to go through the motions of crying without tears. The moth, a fuzzy white little thing the size of a strawberry, perched on the back of her hand. She raised it in the candlelight, grateful for a touch that didn't hurt. But, as soon as it came, it left, seeking out brighter things. It didn't hesitate as it flew into the flickering flame of the candle. Pam watched with resigned horror as it fluttered uselessly around, its shadow bouncing haphazardly along the walls as it burned.

It had sought out something too good, too bright, and was punished for it. In the moment before its impact with the fire, it must have thought it the sun, a chance at freedom. And as it died, burning out, Pam formed one coherent thought.

_Harley_, the ashes of the moth lay smoldering on the concrete, _I'm dying_.

x

According to Two-Face, Ivy had not been admitted to Arkham this time around.

"Ain't possible!" Harley squeaked, but clamped her hands over her mouth. The cafeteria guards were trigger-happy, and the last thing she needed was to be tazed for trying to get some information. "We were caught at the same time. B-Man caught us looting some snooty party. Of _course _she'd end up here."

"Look," Harvey buttered one half of his English muffin, and then paired it with a smear of raspberry preserves on the other half. There was artistry to his illness, honestly. The guy was some sort of obsessive compulsive savant. "I'm just tellin' it like it is. You were brought in like you always were—screaming and biting and threatening to piss on the guards—"

"_Nuh-uh_, I was tellin' them I _had _to pee or else. I really had to go."

"Whatever, Little Miss Tinkle. You were brought in, and so was Ivy."

"Ya just said she wasn't admitted!" Harley covered her mouth again, watching as a few of the officers edged cautiously toward their table, hands brushing their batons and Tasers.

"And she wasn't," Harvey said around a bite of toast. He frowned with the good half of his mouth at Harley's mostly empty tray and handed her the unopened banana on his plate. She took it and ate it absentmindedly, not fully comprehending how hungry she was until she had food in her mouth. He offered her his carton of orange juice and she accepted. "Petal was taken down for detox, like she always is, and hasn't been seen since. Clearly, she was released; otherwise you two would be cell-by-cell, right?"

Harley chewed thoughtfully. "But it makes no sense. There's no way she'd leave m—I mean, she was just all _injured _and stuff a coupla months ago…"

"She's a tough gal," Two-Face grumbled.

Like Pam, he was older than Harley. Then again, most people at least felt older than she was. She didn't particularly care for him, but while he'd been bad to Red in the past, he'd also been good to her, too. He was like the rest of them, just a regular person once. He was lucky, because it was an even-split on which half was good and which half was troubled. Harley didn't like to use the word "bad" for any of her and the inmates. Troubled. That's what they were.

"Y'know, they caught _him _again, right?" Harvey noted, plopping the banana peel onto his tray with the rest of his trash. "Not long after you guys were caught. Folks like Wesker and Nigma are saying he came in shouting your name. Freaks like Croc and Zsasz Are saying he's down there, in those nasty old cells, groaning your name like some wounded freak. Y'know you're fucked up if you give Zsasz the willies—not you _him_."

"You say _him _like Ivy does, when she talks about Joker." Even saying the name stung, like saltwater in a fresh scrape. Ivy said that pain meant she's healing, but it's the kind of healing that's always going to happen, and always going to hurt.

"She means a lot to you," Harvey muttered, and Harley had a gut feeling, just a hunch, that it was his good half speaking. "Petal. Doesn't she?"

"You still care about her," Harley countered quietly, "right? Of course I care. She does that. She makes you care."

Harvey laughed.

"Wha? Wha?"

"It's funny," he chuckled, wiping his hands with a paper napkin. "I've sat at this same table, this same chair, and had this same conversation. Petal's said those same words. _She makes you care_."

"About who?"

The good side of his face tugged upward in a bright grin, and a new camaraderie Harley had never considered formed between them.

"You."

x

It took a solid three minutes for Selina to stop laughing from the other side of the glass. The woman had _tears _in her eyes from laughter, fueled by seeing her friend in lockup again.

"Ya finished, cat?" Harley grumbled, arms folded tighter than her pigtails were tied.

"_Harley_," Selina moaned, wiping at her eye. "You can't tell a girl a story like that and not expect this kind of response. What were you and Ivy thinking? You robbed a Wayne affair, after all. Bruce is the best protected man in Gotham. And half of the GCPD was on the invite list!"

Harley kept her gaze down, hoping to hide her red cheeks. Jokes weren't so funny when they were aimed at you, after all. It was important to laugh at yourself, but not when others were making the shots. "Was Ives' idea. Mr. Wayne bought up a lot of some exotic plant and it really steamed her broccoli."

"He was funding use of that plant to culture immunizations for tropical diseases, kid. It was a sloppy job, especially for Ivy. You two have really lost your edge since you…"

"Since we what?" Harley looked her full in the face, challenge in her eyes.

"Well," Selina leaned in, tone quiet. "Started _dating_."

"Ain't dating," this time, the red in Harley's cheeks was of a different nature, and her lips spread thin, frozen unattractively somewhere between a smile and a frown.

"You beat up your psychotic ex-boyfriend, made him lose his _hand_, and played a hot game of tonsil hockey with Ivy in front of a roomful of doctors and nurses. I think that qualifies as dating."

"Ain't like that," Harley muttered, leaning back in her chair so she could see out the window at the far side of the visitor's room. The sun was shining outside; maybe Ivy was out enjoying it. "We're just together now. Y'know? It's like you and B-Man."

"Which B-Man?"

"Okay, you and your B-Men. A mutual understanding."

Selina cocked her head, her earring catching the light. She was always so sparkly, when she dressed up. Harley envied her ability to make something so degrading as slumming it to meet her friend in prison something like a formal affair with just a dress and good shoes. When Harley dressed up, she felt like a kid playing pretend.

She didn't feel so much like a kid around Ivy. When she was with Joker, he demanded she at least wore her face paint at all times. When she was with Ivy, Ivy let her wear whatever she wanted. And she'd tested that rule to its fullest. She wore silly things like pajamas out in public, or jeans to bed. She would borrow Ivy's clothes, her perfume, her makeup, and once even her nightie. All of Ivy's belongings were that of a grown woman, and Harley longed for that, perhaps even hated her for it. If Pam minded, she never said anything. There was just the occasional sigh, or a comment to put it back where it belonged when she was through.

"Mutual understanding?" Selina echoed.

"Y'know, you're just _together_, but you don't make a deal of it. You kiss and hold hands and do _more_, but never broadcast it. I think that's how it should be."

"That's odd," the cat burglar smiled lopsidedly. "But encouraging, coming from the girl who shouted about the great 'love' that was Joker and Harley Quinn at every possible breath."

"Times _change_, y'know." Harley huffed, stiffening her bottom lip. She peeked at Selina through a squinted eye, and spied a fond smile on her face. Harley drooped. "'Sides, you can't call it dating when your girl gets released and doesn't bother to spring ya."

Selina's head slid back, her brows furrowed. "Released?"

"Yeah," Harley lamented. "Guess I should be used to it; Puddin'—I mean, _Joker_, he did it all the time. Got free and let me free myself. Didn't think Ivy was like that, but I s'pose I should be used to a little cold shoulder by now."

"That doesn't sound like Ivy," Selina muttered. "Sure, she's left people in the dust in the past, but I've seen her tear the earth in two just to get you out of tough spots. As far as the Jolly Green Giant's concerned, you're pretty much part of her gardens by now."

"Great, back to square one. Being owned and toyed around like some doll on strings. Great progress, Dr. Quinzel. Way to go. Thanks a ton, Ivy."

"No, no. Think about it like this: Ivy hasn't let a damn person in since that doctor guy, right?"

"Woodrue."

"I guess. You guys won't give me the full deets, but I respect that." Selina tapped on the glass with red painted nails. "It's just been Ives and her plants for a long, long time, right? So, then, the fact that she's even taken you in in the first place is a huge deal, am I right? Or am I rambling? I think I'm rambling. The point is, I don't want you and Ivy to split up; I've wanted you two to be happy since you sprung out together that first time. Don't ruin this for me."

"For you?"

"Oh, okay. Don't ruin it for you guys. I just want you to be happy."

"Y'think Ivy makes me happy?"

Selina narrowed her green eyes. "Why do you keep calling her Ivy?"

Harley stood, turning her back on her friend. Outside, the sun was shining. A couple of butterflies danced in a helix past the window. Somewhere, Ivy was out there enjoying it all, while she was locked up inside. It would be so easy to escape, but what was the point? She was alone. She felt like dying.

"Because she left me behind."

x

Wayne Manor was always so cold this time of year. Bruce, never once having to fear not meeting the electric bill, spared no expense at keeping his home a frosty temperature all summer long. When Selina visited, she had to dress as if she was getting ready to head out into the fall, and frankly that was unsexy. However, the first time she'd spent the night and worn a skimpy little sleep ensemble she caught a cold and was caught walking around essentially half-dressed by one of Bruce's dozens of miniature underlings.

Selina rolled out of the empty bed and pulled on Bruce's robe. Everything he owned smelled expensive. Even the Batsuit reeked of his four-hundred dollar cologne. If anyone asked her what privilege was, she would gesture to Bruce without hesitation.

The kitchen was empty with the exception of one small occupant, who locked eyes on her with scorn.

"Father, your _floozy_ is awake!"

Selina, brows furrowed, smiled as she cinched the robe shut. "You're awfully cute, kid, for being named after the spawn of the _Devil _and all."

Damian Wayne scrunched up his already squashy face. "High talk, for a common strumpet that waltzes in and out of my father's bed at a moment's whim."

"Wouldn't call it _waltzing_, little man. It's more of a tango, or salsa dancing. What we do isn't reserved enough to be a waltz."

"_Pennyworth!_" Damian sprung from his seat, shouting into the cavernous house as he exited the kitchen. "Fetch the bleach so father's favorite whore can cleanse her soul!"

Selina, unused to this sort of banter outside of her two _dearest _friends, made a face at the boy's back and stuck out her tongue.

"I see your time together with Quinn has been rubbing off on you."

Selina jumped, nearly knocking over a jar of sugar on the countertop. She righted it, her breathing coming in quick bursts at the sudden start. She looked up at him through her fringe of black hair, a smile beginning to build on her face.

"I know you've been trained by ninja voodoo monks out in the middle of the arctic, darling, but didn't anyone ever teach you it's not polite to sneak up on a lady?"

Bruce, the insufferable man, cocked a brow and smirked. It was always nice to see him in full sunlight for a change. Even if it brought out every scar, every bruise, every wrinkle and laughter line, defining him like an impassive statue worn by time. It was worth it, to see those blue eyes sparkle outside the shine of a streetlamp or traffic light. Selina Kyle was not some gooey hopeless romantic, like Harley, but even she could savor the occasional melting moment.

She took his hand and pressed it to her cheek, a familiar gesture he once told her was like a cat forcing its owner's hand to scratch it behind the ear. She'd bitten him then; she had no master.

"If I said I wanted to shower, would you join me?" Selina traced her thumb back and forth against the back of his hand.

"Probably not; I have work to do. I _do_ have a day job, you know."

"Hmph. Your loss. And what is the enigmatic, charming, debonair Bruce Wayne up to today?"

"It's amazing, your ability to both compliment and insult a person in the very same sentence."

"It's a talent. Also, it comes with the territory when one lies awake listening to you snore through the night."

"Touché. Something to drink?"

"Please."

He moved to the fridge and retrieved a carton of milk. The Waynes only drank skim, something Selina was still trying to train herself to not hold it against them. She accepted the glass, wondering if her shower could wait until he was free; he wore a turtleneck well.

"I can't believe your friends thought holding up an event in my own home was a sound idea," he smirked into his milk. Even Bruce Wayne could garner a milk mustache, and it humanized him in all the right ways. "Granted, they don't know about the cave full of tech I keep a few hundred yards beneath the ground floor of this place, but I'm still Bruce Wayne. And the GCPD—"

"The GCPD were there!" Selina finished for him, gesturing with an exasperated hand. "It's like I told Harley. She and Ivy have been slipping."

"Not that I'm invested," which was clear Bruce Code for being invested, "but how is Pamela healing up? Her genetic makeup is astoundingly good at recuperating, but Joker brutalized her. I saw her medical reports upon dismissal from the hospital. Even with her accelerated metabolism, she'd be limping at the least. Lacerations, broken bones, nearly complete exsanguination; those aren't symptoms you just rise up and walk away from."

"You do if you love someone," Selina ran her finger around the rim of her glass. "You were there, in the aftermath. You know what happened. What Harley did. Those two are in deep, through the thick of it all. The way I see it, if Harley could turn her back on the man who's been her obsession for nearly a decade, for the sake of Pam's life, of course Pam can push her pain aside to ease Harley's guilt."

"Quinn feels guilty?"

"She'd be insane not to," her eyes widened. "Oh, you know what I mean. I don't think Harley is ever going to get over what happened at those docks. Either she's regretting what she did to Joker, or she's regretting letting Ivy get mixed up to begin with. I think her world was simpler before; you know how uncomplicated she likes things to be. Stress makes her a wreck. Same with loneliness. The poor thing's never been in Arkham without Ivy a cell over before."

Bruce's brows arched upward. "Where is she?"

"You tell me. Harley says Dent told her Ivy wasn't admitted."

Bruce got quiet. Selina edged closer, watching his stoic expression. He didn't notice her approach until she waved a hand in front of his face.

"Earth to Bruce. You know, if you want me to hang around more, you're gonna have to clue me into those _deep_, _mysterious _thoughts of yours."

"Go down with me."

"A strange way to phrase it, but s—"

"To the cave, Selina. I need your help."

This time, it was Selina's turn for her brows to move upward. "That's a first. What's got the almighty Batman's undies in a bunch?"

"Dent is wrong. Ivy was admitted, just like Harley."

"Then…that means that…"

"Exactly," Bruce stated grimly, "Pamela Isley is missing."

x

Singing, low and mournful, filled Ivy's cell. Or, rather, the reverberation of a song. The sound of it, faint though it was, echoed and warped throughout the room. Desperate for contact with someone outside of this cell, aside from her captor, Ivy flung herself to the floor, seeking out the sound.

Beneath the cooled wax of the worn down candles, the sound hummed its loudest. With shaking fingers, Pam picked away the wax, filling her nostrils with the smell of childhood birthday cake and a remembered chorus of "Happy Birthday to You." She wondered if she would ever celebrate another birthday again.

A vent, shoddily crafted into the concrete of the cell, was the source of the sound. Ivy pressed her ear to the opening she'd created. The sound of trickling water joined the crooning voice, deep and not exactly pleasant. The sound was almost haunting.

"_Elle était si jolie que…ne peux l'oublier. Elle était…quand le vent l'emmenait. Elle fuyait…me disait_—"

"Croc."

There was only one inmate Ivy knew of that spoke fluent French and was locked up in the deepest bowels of Arkham. Killer Croc paused his song, as if he had heard her interruption, but resumed his singing. After all, who would be insane enough to visit him _down there? _The sound stopped fading in and out as he found a place to sit. She could hear the water slosh around him as he plopped down.

"_Elle est bien trop jolie, et toi, je te connais. L'aimer toute une vie, tu ne pourras jamais_."

"Croc!"

He halted. Even the sloshing in the water ceased. He'd heard. "Who there?"

The longer Pam lay pressed to the floor, face close to the vent, the more the cuff around her wrist cut into her skin. A fishy, murky smell drifted upward from Croc's layer. She nearly vomited, but had nothing in her system to release.

"I know I heard a voice in here," his deep grumbly voice was well articulated, despite a thick Cajun accent and an apparent lack of lips.

"It's Ivy, Croc." Not that she expected that to endear him in anyway. Whenever they'd crossed paths in the past, she had not been kind to him. It was easy to poke fun, especially when she had Harley's jokes to lob back at him. "Where are you?"

His laughter was like a roll of thunder. "Should be askin' you that, cher. You sound far away."

"I am. And so do you."

"Well now," she heard more splashing, followed by another plop. His voice was louder, as if he was seeking out her voice. Even if he wanted to attack her, he'd never be able to. His sense of smell would tell him how far up she was soon enough. "Never heard of them locking up a lady so deep down before. What'd'ya do? Scratch out a guard's eyes? Always liked your spunk, when it wasn't about me."

"I don't know," Ivy answered. "I woke up here. I don't think I'll be around much longer."

"Planning to escape?"

A small, hysterical laugh escaped Pam's lips. "No. I think I'm just going to rot here."

"Can't have that. Your pigtailed gal pal'd have a fit. Don't get much gossip down my way, but I hear she thinks you ditched her."

A new sort of panic tore through Pam. "I was kidnapped! I'm being held prisoner!"

"Ain't we all?"

How long had she been locked up? How many days had Harley gone thinking Ivy had turned her back on her? Even at her worst, her lowest points, she had never turned her back on Harley. Now she was dying, and she was going to die letting Harley believe she was alone.

"I heard what you did to old Joke Man," Croc's laughter was like the rattling of old bones. Or perhaps he'd found something, or someone, to snack on down there in the abyss. "Can't say I ain't jealous. I'm the crocodile, here. I should've taken the old guy's hand and made a pirate out of him."

Cold dashed through Pam like a sudden rush of winter. "Joker lost his hand?"

"Your girl severed every bit she could when she fought back. The whole joint's proud of her."

She thought of the stump of her jailor, and suddenly everything made sense. She would have realized it before, if she hadn't been so weak and weary, between dehydration and endless handfuls of salt, she may have noticed. And they said Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

"Can you sing again, Waylon?" Ivy rested her heavy head against the cold concrete. "In English? Please?"

"Ain't a happy song, cher. You sure?"

"Please."

He drew in a breath, and as he sang, Ivy felt her heart beat just a bit slower.

"_She was so pretty, that I didn't dare to love her. She was so pretty, I can't forget her. She was too pretty when the wind took her. She escaped full of delight and the wind told me: She's very pretty, and I know you. You couldn't love her all your life_."

To Be Continued


End file.
